


The Sun Rose

by SeaCrest



Series: A Life Unmade [1]
Category: Those Who Went Missing
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-30 01:12:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14485536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeaCrest/pseuds/SeaCrest
Summary: In which Lyra makes her way in the world.





	The Sun Rose

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted [here](https://seacrest-star.deviantart.com/art/Origins-The-Sun-Rose-737869171).

When Lyra was born, the clan celebrated. Not because she was a hedgewitch - they wouldn't know that for years, if at all - but because a new life was always celebrated. That her mother was one of their hedgewitches was only a bonus, for magic ran strong in Zaira's blood. The Rose Star was powerful, one of the most powerful hedgewitches that they had ever seen, and her child would likely inherit her magic, if not her strength. The Heron Witch was of Zaira's blood, too, a niece who excelled at the finer magics, the small ones, and left Zaira to play with the weather and summon crops and lure prey to the clan's hunters. They had been born to the clan, too, but they were the last of their family, the only ones to have escaped the raging fever that had decimated the clan and taken the lives of so many. Neither Zaira nor Ava were healers, although they could heal; this sickness was beyond their knowledge and skill, and in truth they had both been too young when it had happened, and not yet grown into their full power. Now Zaira knew what she should have done, what she had not been able to do, and her niece, who was but three years younger, also knew, and they held this burning knowledge tight, fueled by guilt and shame, even though their clan did not blame them. How could they, when they knew that if she could, Zaira would have saved her mother, her sisters, her brothers? They did not know who her father was - hedgewitches took men and women to their beds as was their preference, and did not marry, although some took consorts - but she would have saved him, too. It was in her nature to help and to protect. 

At Lyra's birth, Zaira knew that her child would never be considered normal, not even if she was completely mundane. She would stand out no matter how much power she had, because she had bright copper hair and eyes like a pearl, never just one color and never quite the same, and nobody in the clan had ever seen someone who looked quite like her. She shared her skin with them, golden like the sand, but she shimmered with rosy freckles that seemed to catch the light like a fine coat of scintillating dust. Everyone who saw her simply assumed that she was a hedgewitch already, and to look at her, and the way that she carried herself, she could easily have played to that charade, if she had wanted to. But Zaira refused to let her become prideful and arrogant, and so Lyra only pretended to be what she wasn't when the situation was too delicate. At the tender age of eight, she dispelled a fierce argument between two members of rival clans, strong, powerful men who were both chieftains in their own right. Her mother had been called away to tend to an injured hunter; her cousin was herself injured, and tending to herself in the privacy of her own tent. Not a member of the Council yet, nevertheless Lyra let her appearance speak for herself, staring down both men with those iridescent eyes, and spoke wisdom beyond her years. Why argue over territory, when there is more than enough land for them to share? A proposal, if they would consider it; one year for each of them in turns, if they could not share peaceably altogether, with a family from each clan sent as an envoy to ensure communication between them. 

From any other, they would not have considered it, but from a child hedgewitch they could do nothing but bow their heads and acquiesce. A hedgewitch was the supreme power, more powerful even than a chief, and one so young must have power beyond belief. Later, when the chiefs had gone and Lyra's mother had returned, the child trembled in delayed fear, and wondered what would happen if the chieftains discovered that she had lied about who she was. Zaira had no answers to this; rarely did people assume that someone was a hedgewitch when she wasn't. On the contrary, most hedgewitches seemed unassuming at first, covering their crests and only revealing them when absolutely necessary. But if Lyra was never a hedgewitch, Zaira would back her words, and the chieftains would not be able to lay a finger on her daughter. 

Within her clan, Lyra was like any other child. Her best friends were a girl named Atrita and a pair of twins, Barithel and Mos, and the four of them were a vivid reminder to the clan of the power of children. They were bright, and bold, and brave, but loyal too, dedicated to their clan and their families, steadfast in what was right and what was wrong. For all she played with the other children, however, Lyra knew that she would be a hedgewitch. She could feel it in her veins, a fire that rippled through her and sought a way out, but not yet. It wasn't yet time for her magic to reveal itself, so she clenched her fists until the half-moons in her palms were semi-permanent, breathed slowly and painfully as the magic surged, threatening to split her open. Zaira knew it would be soon, and she and the Heron Witch agreed that Lyra was to be the most powerful of them all, sensing the power contained within her shimmering skin. Other clans sent their hedgewitches to investigate the surge of power, and on the eve of the arrival of the fourth hedgewitch, Lyra's magic broke loose, bleeding out of her and pooling at her feet as she struggled to contain it. It had no real purpose, but shimmered and shifted, benevolent and strange, until it coated the village and Lyra was flooded with a sudden awareness of every breath, every heartbeat, every blink within a ten mile radius. She felt it when her mother seized her by the shoulders and shook her, felt the panic rising in the uninitiated, heard the newest arrival scream something that created a barrier at the the edges of the village and cut off the awareness. Lyra came back to herself with a shuddering gasp, and the magic vanished, sinking below the surface. 

"You're a hedgewitch, child," one of the visitors said sagely, and Lyra smiled politely.

"I know," she answered. Raising her gaze to her mother, she knew that all her lessons in manners and politics and self control would truly be put to the test now, as she came into her own and took her place on the Council.

* * *

Lyra held a needle pinched between her forefinger and thumb, holding it up so that she could squint at the tiny eye through which she fed a thread of magic. That done, she gave it a mental twist to solidify the spell, and then it was done, as quickly as it would take a skilled seamstress to thread the needle herself. Now, however, she wouldn't need to, and for the older women of the clan who sewed, this would save their eyes just a little longer. They might not be capable of fine embroidery, but fading eyes could still sew a patch or hem a shirt. Weaving the spelled needle into a piece of linen on her lap, Lyra pulled the next needle from her sleeve and began the process again. 

"You waste your power like that, you know." The speaker was the Moonwitch, a woman barely twenty five, and yet she spoke with the authority of someone twice her age. Zaira had her reservations about her, but a traveling hedgewitch was to be welcomed, and so she held her tongue. Privately, however, their Council determined not to encourage the Moonwitch to stay, for she was brash, arrogant, and headstrong; she did not fit within the tightly knit family Council, although it wasn't the blood ties between them that garnered their mutual respect. That was something they had learned from a young age; their magic did not make them superior, although it gave them a powerful role. A hedgewitch could die just like any other, and in death they were all the same. The Moonwitch bordered on direspectful, even of the Rose Star, who led the Council, and treated Lyra as if she were still that ten year old child who did not know how to control her own magic. At fifteen, Lyra had more than enough skill and power to crush Ajira if she so desired, although the other hedgewitch wasn't cognizant of this fact. She was a weak witch herself, to be perfectly honest, for that was one of the first things a hedgewitch learned, to identify another hedgewitch by her aura of power. If she wasn't so quick to judge others as beneath her, she would have noticed the way even Zaira deferred to Lyra when the Council disagreed, despite her age and status. 

Lyra looked up and smiled placidly. "I enjoy the work, and it helps my elders and brings them happiness. I could hardly say no to them, could I?" she asked, and Ajira sniffed. 

"They should do it themselves. Hedgewitches have far more important things to do."

Lyra raised an eyebrow. "Such as?" She liked to think of herself as even-tempered, but Ajira's attitude got under her skin in a way that she couldn't ignore for much longer. "It is the duty of a hedgewitch to help her clan with the powers she was granted."

Ajira rolled her eyes, flicking her jet black hair over one shoulder. If it weren't for her personality, Lyra would call her beautiful; as it was, she might be outwardly lovely, but it was all a veneer. "What have they ever done to help _you_?"

Lyra continued threading her needles, her eyes focused on the tiny eyes as she spoke. "They raised me and cared for me. They provide me with food, clothing, and shelter. Respect must be earned, Ajira, and you have earned nothing from me. Please leave." She'd learned how to use her words from her mother, learned what respect meant and when she should give it. As a hedgewitch she was in a position to school those who thought respect was a right owed to them. She was to respect others as people, but she didn't owe them anything more than basic human decency unless they earned it; a chief could be ignored if he wasn't worthy of his title, but he still deserved to be respected as a person. This was the role of a hedgewitch - the good ones, at any rate.

As expected, the Moonwitch swelled up in righteous fury. She was one of those who thought that a hedgewitch was automatically and irrevocably an authority to respect.  "Who are you to dismiss me?" she demanded, standing and marching over to Lyra, who turned from her work and stared back at her with flinty eyes. "Some two-chit hedgewitch who is so weak she can only thread needles like some old woman? You're just a child!" It was true, that Lyra was only eleven, but Ajira should have known better.

Lyra put aside her needles and stood, forcing Ajira to step back unless she wanted to be pushed over. "I am Lyra the Sun Rose of the Hiroka Clan, and I claim insult from you, Ajira Moonwitch." Her strange, pale eyes flashed with opalescent fire, and Ajira suddenly became uncomfortably aware of the power that swelled and filled the tent. Claiming insult from a hedgewitch, by a hedgewitch, meant a duel. If she refused, she would be considered cowardly; if she accepted, and lost, she would lose face and be forced to pay whatever sum it was that Lyra named - or die. She had no illusions about winning, not now that Lyra had made her power so abundantly clear.

"We witness the challenge," said the Heron Witch from the doorway, and Lyra smiled tightly. Even the code that governed the interactions with a traveling hedgewitch would not protect Ajira now, not now that she had openly insulted another hedgewitch. 

There was only one answer that Ajira could give, and she spat it through gritted teeth. "I accept." 

A hedgewitch duel was a rare sight, but there was protocol even for this. A space was cleared at the center of the camp, and the two uninvolved hedgewitches formed a barrier between the duellers and the rest of the clan. As the insulted one, Lyra set the pace; the duel would stop only when she declared an end. Most duels did not end in death, but it was an option, and Ajira was acutely aware of this as she watched Lyra strip off her heavier robe to reveal the light shift she wore beneath. She didn't think that the Sun Rose would actually kill her, but she had severely underestimated her, and that would cost her dearly now. If Lyra was anything like her, she would make her suffer in humiliation before she called off the duel. It was a bitter pill to swallow. As the outsider in this situation, and the offending party, Ajira had no one to help her; Lyra was surrounded by her family and friends, offering her water and mint leaves to chew on and clear her mind. Ajira prepared for the duel alone, off to the side and away from the clan. 

Wordlessly, a girl approached with a pitcher of water and a cup, which she placed at Ajira's feet before turning and walking away, still without uttering a word. How dare they treat her so? Ajira felt her anger surfacing. She may have unwittingly offended their precious Sun Rose, but she had her rights, too, and she would make them pay for this. 

The two hedgewitches faced each other across the open space that had been cleared for them, the difference in their confidence in their abilities clear from their postures. Lyra stood with hands open and muscles relaxed, an intense expression in her eyes but no tension in her body, while Ajira's shoulders were pulled tight and her hands were fisted in her skirts. When the Rose Star gave the signal, the duel began, and Lyra wasted no time, power blooming in the air between them, white and iridescent as it formed a shimmering wall that hid Lyra's movements from view and blinded her onlookers. Ajira did her best to shield her eyes, using one hand to sketch a poisonous symbol in the air to form an illusion snake that struck at the wall and swallowed what power it could. She staggered as the power forced its way through her, changing as it did to burn and twist. Lyra had anticipated this, apparently, or something of the sort, and Ajira fell to her knees, furiously conjuring a lightning spell even as Lyra formed a whip with her power and lashed it across Ajira's face. The Moonwitch fell back, cursing, and rolled, shielding herself as she tried to regain her footing. The earth beneath their feet rumbled as Ajira tried to force it over Lyra's feet, but the earth lapped at her feet like a wave and receded, turning back and rolling over Ajira's shield until she was encased in dirt, her shield the only thing keeping her from being buried alive. She flexed her shield and threw the dirt outwards, but Lyra was already behind her, bringing raw magic down like a hammer and shattering Ajira's shield and laying the Moonwitch flat on her stomach. Invisible hands seized Ajira around the throat, squeezing, and Lyra loomed over her. 

"Yield," she ordered steadily. 

Ajira writhed, forming a spear with her magic and driving it towards Lyra's heart, distracting the Sun Rose enough to free herself and sweep Lyra off her feet with a well-placed blow. In retaliation, Lyra flexed the very earth they stood upon, throwing Ajira high into the air before pinning her down, spreadeagled on her back. The Moonwitch gasped, fighting for breath, and struggled, but Lyra had clamped down on her with a layered shield that she could not break, standing on the other side so that Ajira's magic could not reach her. 

"Yield," Lyra ordered again, and Ajira only prolonged the inevitable by struggling. Lighting flickered within the shield, scorching the ground she lay on but not touching her - yet. Furious, Ajira rasped out a forbidden word, and Lyra screamed in pain as her bones splintered, staggering back as her mother and cousin surged forward, shouting. She waved them off, coughing up blood and binding her own wounds with magic and sheer will, weaving it into her very bones and propping herself up. Her eyes flashed, and those watching knew instinctively that this was the turning point. Small and young and brimming with power, Lyra might have been all of eleven years old, but even the youngest members of the clan knew without a doubt that she was about to crush her opponent.

Slamming down with her power, Lyra shattered her own shields and seized Ajira, ripping her from the earth like a ragdoll and hurling her across the clearing. The Moonwitch didn't have a second to breathe before sharp rocks burst forth from the earth, piercing her but avoiding any vital organs. As she screamed, attempting to hold still despite the pain because writhing would only make it worse, Lyra ripped the rocks from her body and closed those invisible hands around Ajira's throat again, squeezing tighter than before as tears streamed down the Moonwitch's face. Stepping in close, Lyra yanked Ajira until their faces were level. 

"Yield. Or I carve the traitor's mask into your coward's face right now." Ajira gurgled, her face growing red as she tried to speak. Lyra loosened her grip just enough for the other hedgewitch to breathe. 

"I yield," Ajira rasped. 

Lyra dropped her in disgust, prompting a howl of pain from the Moonwitch, and turned away. She paused, however, and turned back. "If I see you ever again, Ajira Moonwitch, I will kill you," she said softly. "I will kill you for insulting my mother and my cousin. I will kill you for using a forbidden word of power in a duel, and for insulting my clan. Being a hedgewitch doesn't make you better than them."

Ajira shook with rage and shame and pain. She would make this Sun Rose pay for her arrogance and her conceit. Maybe not today, but one day. 

* * *

Lyra may have been mature beyond her years, to call for a duel and to speak as she had, but her own brutality had frightened her. From that day forth, she refused to try the bigger magics, afraid to lose control. Of her temper or her magic, she couldn't say; that day with Ajira had been a combination of both, had left her exhausted and shaking as her mother set her bones and her cousin mended her torn flesh. Terrified of her own power, she kept herself to the small magics, spells that the Heron Witch had no trouble with - the Heron Witch, who had not even a third of the Sun Rose's power when all was said and done. A skilled, powerful mentor would have been able to guide Lyra's power and control it if it grew beyond her, but neither Little nor Zaira had the power to harness Lyra's excess power, and to attempt to do so would be to burn themselves up in the process.  

"You have to trust yourself," Zaira would tell her daughter, and Lyra would shake her head mutely, returning to the nets she was mending or the soothing balm she was brewing. Even these tasks were difficult now, because she was holding back her power, refusing to pour magic into the spells in case she loosened her grip on it too much and flooded her spell. Her magic wasn't meant for small things; cutting single veins or shaping ruined features was a skill she lacked, both due to her unwillingness to learn and for the amount of power she wielded. Unlike the Heron Witch, Lyra's magic was more like a broadsword than a razor, more brute force than finesse. 

She lost control one fateful afternoon, bringing an avalanche to the mountains and almost destroying her people. It was then that Zaira and Little decided that something had to be done. 

"We're sending you to the Stormbreaker," Zaira explained at their Council meeting. "She will be able to help you learn to use your power without hurting anyone."

"Are you sure?" Lyra asked fearfully. She had cried for hours after the accident, hidden herself away in a cave in the mountains until their best hunters had managed to track her down. They didn't blame her for the avalanche; small as they were, the clan was close knit in a way that not even many family units were, and they had all seen her struggles to keep from harming them. Barithel had been the one to carry her down on his back, having grown taller and broader than she at fifteen to her twelve, besides the fact that she was small anyway. She clutched his brother's hand as they made their way down the mountain, one member of their quartet missing. Atrita had been sent away to the city to study healing, in order to bring new knowledge back to the clan, new remedies that were being developed every day to treat symptoms that had once been thought incurable. 

"Yes," Little said firmly, clasping Lyra's small hands between her own. "But you will need to trust her, Lyra. She will catch you if you fall, but you must believe that she will be there."

Lyra took a deep breath and nodded. "I'll go," she agreed. 

The Stormbreaker, otherwise known simply as the Storm Witch, arrived one cool autumn day, bringing with her a sense of power that was palpable in a different way than Lyra's, confident and bold where Lyra's was compact and hidden away. Even when she tried to push away her power, though, Lyra still exuded an aura powerful enough that other hedgewitches knew of her long before they ever laid eyes on her. The Stormbreaker brought more curious hedgewitches to see why the clan's magical footprint had doubled so rapidly. 

Her name was Kirana, and she was a northerner, with pale, pale skin and hair white as snow. She had crow's feet at the corners of her eyes and laugh lines at the corners of her mouth, but she still looked younger than she really was, except for her eyes. Those eyes were old and gray and wise, and they considered Lyra with a keenness that made Lyra nervous. 

"Are you ready to leave?" The Stormbreaker did not waste words, keeping her own counsel. She'd spoken with Zaira the night before, and although Lyra did not know the details of what had transpired, she knew that her life was now packed neatly into packs that were slung across the back of one of the clan's donkeys. She was to leave with the Stormbreaker on one of the clan's finest horses, as their final parting gift to her. Nobody was sure if she was going to return, or when; a hedgewitch's learning was lifelong, and if she couldn't learn to control her own power, she would be with Kirana forever, or shunted from teacher to teacher until someone was able to teach her control. But if she did learn to wield her magic, instead of letting it wield her, then she could go anywhere, be anyone. A hedgewitch commanded respect on such a level only within the nomad clans, but all magic users had a place somewhere if they wanted one. There was no guarantee that Lyra would return, even if she said she would now, because people change. Atrita now preferred city life to life in a tent; although she came to visit, she was never again going to be a nomad.

Her goodbyes were kept brief, another nomad tradition; when someone left, you sent them off with gifts and good wishes, but you didn't hold them too long lest they feel obligated to stay. She would write to them - Kirana had assured her that any letters she wrote would find their way to her clan safely - but unless the Stormbreaker's business brought her to the nomad territories again, it would be years before she saw any of them again, if at all.

* * *

Sixteen and lovely, Lyra was poised to take her mother's place as the head of their Council, when she awoke to find delicate, swirling lines on the backs of her hands; on her left, a crescent moon nestled among clouds, and on her right, a sun ensnared by whorls. Iridescent like her eyes, they curled around her fingers like lace gloves, and meant only one thing. 

Witchmarks.

No hedgewitch spawned marks spontaneously, and the hands were the seat of a witch's marks. Lyra could account for every spell she had cast, and none of them would have marked her like this. Frightened, she showed her mentor, and Kirana sat down hard as she stared at her apprentice's hands. 

How could a hedgewitch be a witch, too? 


End file.
